Now I’m in a hallway that extends in long, dark fingers on either side of me. I keep walking, tripping over blocks of wood, metal, and beer cans that hide in the shadows. The walls are littered in graffiti, some funny and cute, others dark and malevolent. Kid inside, kid inside, kid inside. When I get to a stairwell, it is covered in snow that piles high, making the steps disappear under a giant white slide. Except for the beam of my flashlight, the blue darkness coils around me, leaves me disoriented, like the space inside this building is infinite and I am small and finite. I keep going, armed with my own voice and the reminder that I say out loud. I’m drawn forward like a magnet.

I try to climb up the stairs, but my feet keep sliding on the snow. I have no traction. Kid inside, kid inside, kid inside. The futility of trying to find a kid in all this darkness curls around me, and I have to breathe deep to press down a rising panic. The kid could be anywhere. I swing my flashlight around, see nothing. “Hello!” I call and am met with a soft whimper. “Hello!”

With much difficulty, I climb the snow-covered stairs, past a gaping hole to my right. I swing my flashlight inside. An elevator shaft. Direct the beam down, holding my breath. Empty. Keep climbing to the next level, where I stand at the end of another long hallway, dark rooms on either side, the floor wet, filled with jagged pieces of building material, moss, and mold.

And then, from somewhere down the massive second-floor hall, I hear a girl. She’s crying and the sound splinters my heart. I keep walking; blood pounds against my skull, and combined with my repeated mantra, my head aches with effort. I ignore the pain and keep moving because I will not leave this building without her.

Inside a cavernous room, the flashlight sweeps across hanging wires, splintered floors. “Hello?” I call.

“Ms. Claire?”

Relief that she knows me. “Yes, that’s me.”

“It’s me, Maree.” She sobs with what I’m sure is relief. “I’m so scared, Ms. Claire. I dropped my phone, and it cracked and broke, and I can’t see anything.” Her words end in quiet sniffles.

I walk toward the voice, careful to step around holes in the floor, until I find her huddled in a small ball with her back to the wall, shivering in the darkness. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Her face is small, heart shaped, and wet from her tears, her nose running. “I-I’m sorry I stole your memory. I’m so sorry.” She cries so hard she’s gulping.